


Reforging

by mylordshesacactus



Category: Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Inquisitor Barriss, Order 66, be afraid, man FUCK TARKIN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>But the blade was broken and its light was extinguished.</em><br/> </p><p>Or: Barriss wakes up in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reforging

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for torture (physical and psychological), Tarkin being a creep, references to a terrorist attack involving a bombing, and Order 66 and everything it entails including the murder of children.
> 
> Many, many thanks to Kablob for his awesome beta skills and help with Vader and Tarkin's dialogue!

 

The door slid open. Luminara Unduli was on her feet before she realized she'd moved.

She'd known, or suspected, or hoped in some desperate corner of her heart, that Barriss was alive. The Force was reeling with pain and confusion still and she hadn't been able to sense her apprentice since she left Coruscant, but she'd thought... she'd told herself, to keep from complete despair, that if _her padawan_ was in danger, in pain, dead—she would know. She _would_.

For the first time, during those long months in hiding, she had fiercely regretted letting Barriss be arrested. We left her locked in a cell on Coruscant, she'd thought, sick with dread in a smuggler's hole as clone troopers marched over her head. We left her a sitting target. We gave her to them on a silver platter.

 _She won't even be able to fight back_.

Still, she had hoped. And _now_ —

“Barriss,” she whispered.

She couldn't hold back a wave of relief, or the smile that came with it as the internal forcefield dropped and her apprentice was escorted inside, hands behind her back, flanked by four security droids. A fifth, a floating globe of a model Luminara had never seen before, brought up the rear.

(Some deep-rooted fear whispered the dangers of attachment, but for once it held no sway on her. At this point, caring too much about her padawan was the least of Luminara's worries.)

Yes, fine, they were prisoners of a despotic Empire in a cell she was not at all optimistic about their chances of escaping, even together; yes, they were probably going to die here. Yes, perhaps their last meeting had been something less than warm. But Barriss was _alive_. And they were together, at the very least.

“Master.” Barriss inclined her head, just barely, staring firmly at the back wall of the cell over Luminara's shoulder.

And that... wasn't like her. Not at all. Quite aside from anything else, Barriss had always looked her in the eye—even after Umbara, even when she was angry, _especially_ when she was angry. Her apprentice had thrived on those brief moments of connection, sought eye contact like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

Her padawan looked unharmed, didn't appear to be favoring any of her limbs, but who could say what horrors she'd been exposed to... But her eyes were clear as she determinedly avoided letting Luminara meet them. If they had been clouded or distant or blinking back tears she would at least have had an explanation for the sudden change in her behavior.

She frowned. “Barriss, what's happened?” Luminara tried to move to her side; she made it half a step before the nearest security droid lowered its electrostaff at her chest.

Something was very, very wrong.

Barriss cleared her throat, lifting her chin slightly in the way she had when she knew she was in the wrong but was too proud or afraid to stand down.

“Sit down, please, Master Unduli.”

Luminara ignored her. “Barriss,” she repeated, anxiety knotting tightly in her chest. _Something is wrong and I don't know what_. “Look at me.”

Barriss' shoulders tightened. She took a deep breath and, finally, visibly forced herself to look her master in the eye.

“Sit down, Master,” she repeated in a cool, clipped voice. “The interrogation droid needs to measure your baseline vitals.”

... _No_.

There was a realization to be had, lurking somewhere in her subconscious; but it was so _ludicrous_ , so entirely beyond the realm of possibility, that Luminara couldn't even grasp its shape. Still, she was beginning to register details she had missed in the sheer rush of joy that her padawan was alive and well against all odds.

Among the more obvious: She was not wearing a head covering. The form-fitting deep-space black and embossed Imperial cogs of her clothing were not a prison uniform. And her hands, folded sharply in the small of her back, were not bound there. Luminara hadn't even noticed.

“Barriss,” she breathed. “Oh, Barriss,  _no_...”

Barriss' eyes tightened, and she waved the security droids forward with a faint motion. They put up their electrostaffs, unexpectedly; but two of them gripped Luminara by her shoulders and forced her down. She didn't resist. Barriss was _definitely_ refusing to look at her now, and the cool facade was beginning to crumble. She looked as uncomfortable and ashamed as she ever had under Luminara's care.

She looked exactly as she always had when she felt she had failed.

“Padawan,” Luminara said warningly, and was unprepared for the violent stiffening along every inch of Barriss' body.

Her apprentice— _former_ apprentice, Luminara realized with dull horror—lifted her head and took a deep breath.

“It's Inquisitor now,” she said. “Actually.”

* * *

* * *

Her throat was burning.

It was the first coherent thought Barriss had upon, slowly, fighting her way back to something that felt unpleasantly like consciousness. Her throat was burning, her mouth felt like she'd swallowed a Geonosian sandstorm, her head was pounding, and she was almost certain she was going to be sick.

She rolled onto her side by instinct, curling into herself to try to lessen the throbbing pain in her temples. Her stomach heaved, and she retched; but after a few minutes her body had mostly settled. She would still give serious consideration to killing a man for a glass of water and her head still felt oddly tender from the inside out, but she felt stable enough to pull herself up until she was sitting back against the wall.

It was cold. It was also dark.

For a long time—or so she assumed, she really had no way of keeping track—this was all Barriss trusted herself to notice about her surroundings. It had been cold in her cell; but she'd been wearing several layers of cotton then. They'd even let her keep an under-hood head covering there, according to Mirialan tradition; she'd wondered at the time if her master had been the one to insist on it. And there had been overhead lights that turned on at ten in the morning and stayed that way for twelve hours. But even at night, there were dim red guide-lights. She'd never been left in this kind of pitch blackness.

Still... while it lasted, she might as well sleep...

Moaning slightly at what could only be the remnants of a powerful tranquilizer in her system—drugging a Jedi was hard enough, drugging an _agitated_ Jedi even harder—Barriss took a deep breath, rubbed her hands over her face, and tried to wake herself up. She couldn't see anything; fine. She would take stock of what she could.

Luminara had taught her that much.

Ignoring her thirst for now, she felt along the floor and the wall at her back. The wall was flat, featureless; it felt like metal, though metal with a layer of paint over it. The floor felt similar, although it seemed to have a shallow grid-like pattern. Somehow Barriss doubted this would provide much of a break from the monotony if she had to be here long.

She reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her face, and paused. She'd been wearing a head covering, she was certain of that; she reached behind her head on the chance that it had just been pushed off at some point, but was unsurprised to find it gone. On a hunch, she patted herself down. For a moment she thought her clothes had been changed while she was unconscious, but a quick check confirmed she had only lost some of the outer layers from the prison uniform she'd been wearing. The thick Republic jumpsuit was gone, leaving her barefoot in a thin undershirt and loose canvas pants. No wonder she was freezing. That was... disturbing, but perhaps less disturbing than it could have been. She was more annoyed by the lack of her underhood. Taking her head covering was just _petty_.

For a moment she seriously considered leaving her investigation there. She doubted she had the energy to stand and explore the room; but even with that aside part of her didn't want to know. Were there others with her? If she moved would she find herself... her mind filled in one horrifying possibility after another. She could be anywhere. Just out of reach she might find the bones of previous victims, might find a sheer drop, might find that her new prison was only these few feet across with no way out.

 _Stop_ , she told herself firmly. _That's enough_. She hadn't fallen so far that she would give in to fear so easily. That would be the most humiliating entry in Jedi history. _Barriss Offee, fallen padawan. Resisted the Dark Side through a hellish war and_ _the orchestration of_ _a bombing, finally gave in because she was scared of the dark_.

Well, if she lacked the energy or nerve to explore by hand... she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, reaching out with the Force.

She found nothing, which was a relief. The room was... a little too large, actually, imposing in its stark emptiness. The ceiling was high, the walls and floor uniform. There was nothing here except her, save for a toilet in the far corner. Nothing. No indentations in the walls, no alcoves; nothing that offered the slightest hint of shelter. A closer inspection suggested the room didn't even _possess_ lighting fixtures; normally she could sense that sort of thing.

Barriss pulled her knees to her chest, shivered against the cold, and felt smaller than she had in her life.

Small, and frightened, and _incredibly_ thirsty.

When an intercom she'd sensed in the ceiling unexpectedly crackled to life, she very nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.”

Heart hammering in her chest, it took Barriss a few seconds to answer the droid.

“Padawan learner Barriss Off—”

She hadn't quite finished when she was cut off by her own scream.

 _Oh_ , she managed to think with the small portion of her brain not distracted by agony. _The floor is electrified_.

When the current finally cut—she could have _kicked_ herself for not checking the floor, even after she noticed the odd grid pattern—and blue arcs of electricity stopped flashing behind her eyes, she pushed herself back onto her knees.

_What was that for?_

She very nearly asked, but then the droid's voice came over the intercom again. It sounded completely unaffected, as if this was the first time it had asked.

“Sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.”

She took an unsteady breath. “Padawan—”

This time it was worse. She didn't know if the voltage had been increased, only that it _hurt_ ; but as best she was able to estimate while twitching and writhing on the ground, the previous shock had lasted five seconds. This one lasted ten.

“Sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.”

Had the grid burned her this time? She was only trying to do what they...

She hesitated.

“...Barriss Offee?”

There was a long pause, and then a _chunk_ sound as a small section of the wall to her right slid out. She felt around until she found it; a small drawer. Contents: a flimsiplast bag of water, and a bar of dried fruit.

* * *

Nothing had changed when she woke.

Well, she supposed, that wasn't entirely true. The water had helped. The water had helped a lot, actually, as had the chance to get at least a few hours (or what felt like a few hours) of natural sleep. She was extremely hungry, and thirsty again, but her headache was gone.

She was still too on edge. And if, as she suspected, she was going to be here for quite some time...

She straightened her spine, crossed her legs, took a deep breath, and let it out as slowly as she could.

They could do what they liked to her; but Barriss Offee was not going to go mad from sheer boredom. Whatever had happened, wherever she was, whoever her captors were, they were going to have to try harder than that.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no nebulous malevolent force wreaking havoc on the galaxy while you are trapped in a lightless metal box who knows where, there is the Force..._

Luminara would have known what to do.

The thought did not make it easier to meditate.

Still, after several long minutes spent breathing and alternating between tensing and relaxing her muscles, Barriss' heartbeat began to settle, her breathing took on a steadier rhythm. _There is no passion, there is serenity._ She had no reason to panic. She may have been an exile from the Order, but she was still a Jedi. It was in her blood. _Calm your mind._ She relaxed further as she felt herself beginning to slip into a trance. _Let the turbulence be washed away in the flow of the_ —

Once, as a youngling, Barriss had been jolted out of deep meditation by a fire alarm going off and had thought there could be no worse way to be torn from that kind of peace. Of course, as a youngling she had never been electrocuted.

The sudden, lancing pain crackling along her body came as such a shock that it almost didn't register until it was over and Barriss was lying on the floor in a cold sweat, twitching with the aftershocks and gasping for breath.

“What did I _do?_ ” she demanded.

There was no answer.

Barriss pushed herself back up on shaking limbs, settling back against the wall and hugging her stomach. That wasn't _fair_. Her eyes stung, and she shoved angry tears away, irritated with herself. It _wasn't_ fair. She hadn't done anything wrong this time. She hadn't hurt anyone. She hadn't _done_ anything.

“Sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.”

She glared at the intercom—much good it would do in the dark like this, but it made her feel better.

“I already told you my name,” she said. “Where am I?”

She'd known the shock would be coming this time. It didn't make it hurt any less.

“Sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.”

She swallowed.

“I... Barriss Offee.”

“Aɢᴇ.”

It was pointless to lever herself onto her knees, but she did it anyway.

“Where am I?” she demanded again. Now that she was waiting for it, she felt the rush of electricity through the floor just before it hit. She could have leapt to avoid it; but she would have had to come down eventually.

“Aɢᴇ.”

She forced herself to bite down on her anger. It would do her no good here.

“Twenty-one,” she said through gritted teeth.

A slight pause.

“Sᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs.”

Barriss resisted the urge to clench her fists. “Mirialan,” she said. “ _Why?_ ”

“Pʀᴇғᴇʀʀᴇᴅ Gᴇɴᴅᴇʀ Mᴀʀᴋᴇʀ. Oᴘᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ.”

“What do you want?” she asked the darkness. “What's the point of any of this?”

“Gᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇʀ ᴡᴀɪᴠᴇᴅ. Iᴍᴘᴇʀɪᴀʟ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛ ᴏғ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴsʜɪᴘ.”

Barriss hesitated. She had surrendered Coruscant citizenship upon being convicted of treason. Mirial wouldn't have her now even if Barriss _wanted_ to claim it; she'd only been there once. She didn't even have a memory of the place outside of the single meditative retreat Luminara had taken her on. A Jedi's home was the Temple.

“ _Imperial?_ ” she asked instead.

They had definitely increased the voltage this time. _Ten seconds,_ she thought with an odd sort of detachment.

“Iᴍᴘᴇʀɪᴀʟ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛ ᴏғ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴsʜɪᴘ.”

“I don't have one,” she said. “I don't have one, I'm a Jedi— _Ah!”_

That, apparently, wasn't what her faceless captors wanted to hear. This time it was longer; she lost her count, and when the pain had stopped she tasted blood.

“Iᴍᴘᴇʀɪᴀʟ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛ ᴏғ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴsʜɪᴘ ᴅᴇsɪɢɴᴀᴛᴇᴅ: Uɴᴀғғɪʟɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ.”

“That's not true!” Barriss insisted. “I'm not a part of the Order but I'm still a—”

She managed not to bite her tongue this time, but for a moment she thought the electrocution would never stop.

 _That_ , she thought faintly as she finally collapsed, wheezing, _was much longer than ten seconds_.

“Iᴍᴘᴇʀɪᴀʟ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛ ᴏғ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴsʜɪᴘ ᴅᴇsɪɢɴᴀᴛᴇᴅ: Uɴᴀғғɪʟɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ.”

She didn't argue this time.

“Cᴏɴғɪʀᴍ: Pʀɪsᴏɴᴇʀ Bᴀʀʀɪss Oғғᴇᴇ. Uɴᴀғғɪʟɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ Mɪʀɪᴀʟᴀɴ. Aɢᴇ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴏɴᴇ. Tʀᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʀᴀɪᴛᴏʀ Lᴜᴍɪɴᴀʀᴀ Uɴᴅᴜʟɪ.”

Barriss had felt cold since she woke up. This was entirely different. She froze from the inside out.

“She isn't a traitor,” she said slowly. “She can't be, you've made a mistake...”

This time, somehow, the electric grid suddenly turning live managed to catch her by surprise.

“Tʀᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʀᴀɪᴛᴏʀ Lᴜᴍɪɴᴀʀᴀ Uɴᴅᴜʟɪ. Cᴏɴғɪʀᴍ. Dᴇɴʏ.”

Barriss was trembling, now; she tried to push herself onto her hands and knees only for her arms to shake and give out.

“She's not a traitor,” she whispered. “Not her. Never.”

She braced herself, as best she could, for another rush of pain. It never came.

“...Hello?” she called. The empty room echoed a bit, then fell silent as a tomb.

* * *

If she had to guess, Barriss would say it had been about two days.

She had absolutely no way of knowing for sure, of course. Her cell was silent, the light never changed, and she had no idea how they kept it this cold without even a whisper from the very, very small air vents. At least if she could hear air conditioning kicking on and off she would have _some_ way to measure time.

The intercom hadn't turned on again, and the food drawer hadn't opened.

She was beginning to worry.

She'd waited—waited hours, it had felt like—for her silence to be punished, but the floor remained dormant.

Mostly.

The only really painful shocks were the long fifteen-second ones, the ones that came whenever she tried to meditate. She'd tried several times; the shock always came right at the moment she went still, just as she was about to slip into the flow of the Force. Either they were watching her—she supposed there might be infrared cameras in the vents—or they had injected her with a biomonitoring device.

She was betting on the biomonitor. She would have tried to see if she was right, except for the inconvenient fact that doing so required her to reach deep meditation.

She hadn't even been able to access that level of trance since... she didn't know when. The electric shocks were few and far between now; every time she started to fully relax her body would tense again on reflex, bracing for the blow. They hadn't needed to shock her in a long time. She hated herself for it. She was a Jedi, she shouldn't be so scared of something like _pain_ that she stopped being able to _meditate_.

Her stomach made a noise she'd last heard on Umbara. She whimpered and pressed her forehead to her knees.

Still, even with all that, she thought it had probably been about two days, because she'd started getting exhausted at one point and tried to sleep.

That... had been a mistake. At least it wasn't a real shock—only a quick burst of agony, enough to make her jerk and set her heart pounding. It happened every time she started to doze off. And it felt...yes. Yes, about two days felt right. Her mouth and throat were dry as a Tatooine summer and the headache was back with a vengeance.

Force, if she could only sleep... But this was helping. Closing her eyes, even in the dark like this, that helped. Made her feel less exhausted. Her neck ached, and resting her head on her arms took some of the strain off. Just for a few minutes. Just a few minutes to rest, and then she would... she frowned slightly, which was as much movement as she had the energy for. She would... do something. Yes.

Just a few minutes.

She yawned widely, and shifted into a more comfortable position. A few minutes just to gather some strength, and then she would try to get some answers again.

Just a few... minutes...

This time the jolt was unbearable, unconscionable; she had been so close, she was so _tired_ . Just a few minutes, just a few _minutes_ of sleep. Her body ached as much from exhaustion as the constant electric shocks and convulsions, she was so tired...

And she'd bitten her tongue again. The taste of iron and salt leeched what little moisture was left from her mouth, and she couldn't take it anymore, she couldn't...

It took her three tries just to be able to make any sound.

“Confirm,” she finally rasped.

Immediately, the drawer slid open.

Contents: one full ration pack, and two bags of water.

* * *

* * *

It was the most awkward turbolift ride Barriss had ever been on.

“All you have to do is answer the questions, Master,” she said, glancing over at Luminara—who was sandwiched between two of the security droids—and trying to catch her eye. “That's all. No harm will come to you. We only need information.”

Luminara stared ahead, a thousand miles away. Finally, she spoke.

“If you truly believe that,” she said softly, “you have my pity.”

The lift slid to a halt. One of the security droids deactivated the electromagnetic fastener attaching Luminara's shock binders to the frame of the elevator, and it took Barriss a moment to remember she needed to leave first. She stepped to the side to let the droids and her master— _their prisoner_ —pass.

“Inquisitor.”

Barriss held back a snarl. What was _he_ doing here?

Tarkin stepped forward, cold and arrogant, holding a datapad. “You're late,” he informed her, looking down his nose.

 _I am_ not. Barriss lifted her chin.

“My apologies, Moff Tarkin.”

Tarkin raised an eyebrow, giving a disbelieving sort of huff. “See it doesn't happen again.” He turned his derision toward Luminara, who gazed back at him evenly, before nodding to the security droids. Two fell back to flank the door; the others guided Luminara between a pair of mag-restraints. Barriss didn't bother hiding her distaste. That kind of energy trap was... crude. Brutal.

The power couplings between the cuffs and the restraint poles crackled to life as one of the security droids activated a control panel. Luminara winced; the second droid uncoupled the now-redundant stun cuffs, and her wrists were jerked toward the ends of the poles, the cuffs visibly biting into her skin.

Barriss cleared her throat, and the security droid stepped away from the panel. Its partner followed, moving to stand on either side of the door with the others. She glanced over the controls, finally locating the slider that regulated the cuff position. Some of the pain left Luminara's face as the mag-restraints were adjusted to her height.

As an afterthought, Barriss dialed up the power on the restraints and activated a secondary ray shield. No one knew better than her not to underestimate Luminara Unduli.

She realized as she lifted her fingers from the control panel that they were trembling.

 _It will be worth it_ , she thought, clasping her shaking hands behind her back. _When this is over and the galaxy has peace. That's all I want_.

 _Force guide me, I can't do this_.

“Whenever you're ready, Inquisitor.” Tarkin's voice grated on her raw nerves.

“Do you even have clearance to be here?” she snapped, tearing her gaze from Luminara's silent form. “I was under the impression this was my interrogation.”

She had never seen a sentient being look half as smug as Tarkin did at those words. “Of course it is, my dear. But naturally, as a loyal servant of the people you understand that all Imperial Inquisitors are subject to periodic review. The Empire demands officials who get results. Failure to do so effectively... at best such a failure would be deemed incompetence, and incompetence cannot be tolerated. At worst, an Inquisitor who failed to extract relevant information would be found guilty of high treason.” He gave a highly unpleasant smile, and gestured toward Luminara with his datapad. “At your leisure. _Inquisitor_.”

Luminara gave a faint sigh.

“I never did like you,” she confessed, giving Tarkin the kind of indulgently reproachful look usually reserved for younglings who swore or put their feet on the table.

Barriss had been on the receiving end of that look several times over the course of—But that didn't matter now.

“Master,” she said clearly, surprised when her voice didn't shake. “We both want this violence to stop. I need you to tell me what you know so that we can end this.” _Together_ , she thought desperately. _We can end this war together_.

Luminara didn't react to her words; she just looked sad.

“It's not too late for you, Barriss,” she said quietly.

That frustrated her. “Too many people have died, Master!” she snapped. “The war is meant to be _over_ and it's just getting worse. You can't want this, you can't have fallen that far!”

Luminara's eyes flashed warningly at that. “Do not lecture me on morality, _Inquisitor._ ”

“I'm sorry, Master,” Barriss replied through bared teeth, lowering her voice and striding closer. “Have I made you _angry?_ Do you _hate_ having to face the truth that your pride is causing death and destruction across the galaxy in the name of a Republic that collapsed under its own corruption? Does the place of the Jedi as spiritual rulers of the galaxy mean that much to you?” Luminara closed her eyes, and Barriss stared at her for a long moment. “Or is there hope for you still?”

When Luminara looked at her again, Barriss faltered. Anger, she would have understood. Resentment. Defiance. They would have made sense, even if they hurt.

Luminara just looked... compassionate. Sad, but tender. It was the look Barriss had seen on her face on countless battlefields, gazing into the face of a dying clone that no healing could save.

“I wish they had killed you,” she said gently.

It went through her gut like a vibroblade, but Barriss managed a stiff approximation of a curtsy.

“As always,” she said formally, “I'm sorry to disappoint you, Master.” She glanced at Tarkin, who was writing something on his datapad and looking unimpressed, and squared her shoulders.

“Master Unduli,” she said. “Who helped you escape from Kashyyyk?”

* * *

* * *

Barriss was woken by a mechanical whirring noise.

She pressed against the wall in a crouch almost before she'd fully woken, bracing to hold her breath; she'd been too distracted to avoid the knockout gas in her old cell (distracted by pain and the terror of ten thousand minds and the lifeblood of the universe screaming a soundless _NO_ that resonated in her core) but they wouldn't get her that way again. Not so easily.

For the briefest possible moment, she tried to reach out with the Force to sense what was happening. Reflexively, conditioned by too many sessions spread over enough days and weeks that she'd lost count, each following the same set of questions from the intercom that she was steadily growing to despise, each resulting in long waves of electricity if she questioned the demands or tried to meditate...she recoiled from the impulse.

The whirring stopped. After a short pause—

“ _Ah!_ ”

Cringing away with a shriek of pain, Barriss spat several things her master would have restricted her to the Temple for _weeks_ if she'd overheard.

After an eternity of complete darkness, the lights were on.

It took...longer than it should have for her eyes to adjust to the sudden, searing brightness. It was as much agony as relief, but she was finally able to lift her head out of her arms and squint at her surroundings.

The featureless, spotlessly white room remained white and featureless. The only difference was the uniform floodlights, broad and flush with the ceiling, that had lowered into place.

Somehow, being able to see the room drew something to the forefront of her mind that should have been obvious from the beginning. Smooth, uniform walls, floor, ceiling—entirely smooth, all six sides. There was no _door_.

She rubbed her eyes again and rose unsteadily to her feet.

“What's going on?” she asked. It was more habit than anything at this point. The intercom never activated on cue. She still didn't even know where she was, except that it was cold. She'd almost begun to get used to the temperature; the silence was worse.

She had felt the Jedi dying. She'd felt them dying, and then she'd woken up here alone in the dark and the silence and she didn't know why...

And some small, traitorous part of her that still wanted her master whispered _even i_ _f she's alive,_ _even_ _if she_ _c_ _ould have come_ _by now_ _she wouldn't risk it. Not for you._ _Not for a fallen traitor_ _._ And Luminara _was_ alive, she had to be alive, Barriss would _know_ if she was dead.

 _She would have come by now if she cared_.

“That's not true,” she muttered under her breath. Barriss was long since past the point of worrying over talking to herself. It _wasn't_ true. There were a thousand reasons Luminara might not have come for her. Most of them involved her master being hurt or in danger, so she hastily glossed over those ones. Maybe Luminara was in hiding. Maybe there was going to be a mass break-out and it needed to be planned. Maybe she was concentrating on people in more immediate danger than Barriss—after all, she was fed here, and they hadn't hurt her much. Her master _hated_ torture, but maybe this whole thing was legal after all and her hands were tied.

More probably, she thought glumly, Luminara just didn't know where she was.

Or she was in a cell like this one, locked away in the dark who knows where, unable to meditate, cut off from the Force, starving and filthy and weak—no. She wasn't going to believe that. She _wouldn't_.

She was not so busy fretting that she missed the and rumbling of gears and hydraulics as one of the walls—the one that, from her usual position next to the food drawer, was on her left—slid open. Well that was a relief, actually. She'd known there had to be a door _somewhere_. At least she hadn't gone completely mad yet.

A low voice was coming from the other side. Hesitantly, Barriss crept toward the opening.

The adjoining room was smaller, almost reassuringly normal. Durasteel slats on the floor, a humming particle shield covering a blast door. The walls were still dull and white and there was no furniture in this room, either, but at least she felt less exposed. After so long in opaque, unchanging blackness, even this much change was equal parts balm and pain. She would never have thought a small cube of a room containing absolutely nothing would be a nearly overstimulating level of change.

No more than she would ever have thought that the Jedi would become a military force, treated as an extension of the army. Peacekeepers and guardians, healers and spiritual leaders, functioning as some sort of supernatural elite forces to conquer territory and fight wars for the sake of denying free systems the right to choose their own fates...

She took a long, slow breath, and tried not to think ill of the dead.

She'd found the source of the voice; her initial glance around the room had missed the pale holoscreen flickering in front of one wall. It was surprisingly small, around the size of a comm booth. The volume was turned low, but she could still make out the figure of a well-dressed human male looking out seriously across the room.

Barriss crossed to the holoscreen cautiously, half expecting another burst of pain; but the floor in this room didn't appear to be electrified. She didn't even consider reaching out with the Force to check for certain.

A gentle tap to the thin projector just barely jutting out from the wall was enough to bring up holographic controls; she adjusted the screen's contrast until she could see the announcer properly, then carefully increased the volume.

“... _medical frigate was attacked in transit today,_ _in the kind of underhanded attack we have not seen since the end of the war_ _. The supplies were intended for relief efforts on the colony moon of_...”

Barriss pulled her hand back in surprise as first one holoscreen, then another began to flicker to life all across the wall.

“ _...further rebel activity_ _disrupted a peaceful gathering of petitioners on Alderaan...”_

“ _Evidence suggests that these self-styled freedom fighters may be armed and dangerous...”_

“— _among the missing supplies were weapons and ammunition, and citizens are cautioned against the lies of these groups which claim to seek peace..._ ”

Barriss backed away as the last of the screens activated.

“... _to the continued efforts of Imperial security forces, a group of traitors was arrested this morning while attempting to flee Coruscant. These traitors, found to be using false transponder codes and in possession of illegal weaponry, are currently in custody and awaiting sentencing_...”

It was a floor-to-ceiling, ever-changing patchwork of... chaos. Gunships hovering over burning wreckage, troopers in eerily uniform white clearing the streets—what had happened to the legions, why did none of these helmets have identifying marks?

Civilians—some of them looked like _refugees_ —stirred groggily at the edges of some of the destruction. In one a pale blue Twi'lek was helping a gangly teenage Rodian to his feet; in another several workers of varying species appeared to have been caught in a blast of some sort and medics were lifting them onto stretchers; in several, ragtag groups dressed like mercenaries dodged through public squares on planet after planet with troopers pursuing. Everywhere, civilians were caught in the crossfire—

_Was that a lightsaber?_

Barriss shook her head sharply. _Wishful thinking_. If there were Jedi on these planets, she thought darkly, they would only make it worse. But she'd sworn just for the space of a blink that a flash of blue had swept in and deflected a plasma bolt away from a cowering Bothan pup. If only. It had probably been blaster fire.

“... _are pleased to report that with the surrender of local rebel cells, trade routes have opened again for the citizens of these impoverished colonies! Imperial forces have increased their presence in the system and are already regaining control of the situation...”_

“ _..._ _report that they are grateful for the intervention of the Empire in restoring peace and sanity to what had previously been a warzone_...”

Barriss' heart began to calm at the sight of the troopers unloading crates safely, warehouses on colony worlds filling with food and supplies again. Well, at least the clones were doing the right thing. But why was the army doing this? Where were the peacekeepers, where were the...

 _That_ was a lightsaber.

There was no mistaking it this time. She didn't recognize the Knight, if Knight they were—Barriss was good, but she could hardly be expected to memorize every single living being in the entire Order, Certainly not well enough to tell their identity from a few seconds of grainy holofootage.

That was a _lightsaber_ , in the hands of what had to be a Jedi, sending blaster fire flying back at a crowd of troopers as behind them ration packs were hastily unloaded from a supply train and tossed into waiting speeders— _what?_

Barriss realized she was shaking her head, and clenched her fists as she tried to stop it. This was... even she hadn't seen this coming. That the Order was misguided, yes, that they had become entrenched in violence and brute force when they never should have been; that she was not the only one wrapped in darkness, only one of the first to recognize it. But not this.

A long period of imprisonment and the experience of panicking enough to let her only friend take the fall for murder (though why should their friendship matter, why did every single member of the Order act as if that was the unforgivable part, if _attachment was forbidden—_ the words held no real meaning, she'd discovered, were only used as a crutch to justify a complete lack of responsibility) had eventually forced Barriss to acknowledge that she really had fallen.

And yet—this was daylight robbery. This was... this was black-market deals and ambushes for the sake of pure selfishness, this was stealing from the people they were meant to protect. If these were food shipments... this was all but tearing rations from the mouths of children.

She shouldn't have been horrified. She'd seen this coming. The Jedi thought themselves inviolable; it was only a small step, from there, to considering themselves above the law. Spend too long as the good guys, and you begin to think that anything you do is heroic. She'd known they were losing sight of the ability to look critically at the morality of their own decisions. But even she had never expected so many to fall so far.

She quietly thanked the Force that she didn't recognize this Knight, as finally their defense broke and the troopers' blaster bolts hit home. The rest of their...cell, she supposed... tried to hold onto their stolen supplies; but it was over. One or two were shot; the rest were subdued, shoved into binders, and taken away. No unnecessary deaths.

Barriss shivered as the broadcasts continued, and barely noticed the wall to her left sliding closed again.

“... _is being rewarded tonight in front of his community for his courage and devotion in speaking out about the location of a hidden Jedi traitor and accomplices. In recognition for his loyalty to the Empire, local Arcol D'Vrel has been authorized for double rations, and his Governor has generously interceded to have the loyal citizen's wife transferred to the finest hospital in his sector as an expression of personal appreciation_...”

She didn't even sense the approach of an outsider until the door slid open.

Barriss whirled defensively, reaching out of instinct for a weapon that wasn't there. When she recognized her visitor, she was not at all inclined to relax.

“ _You_.”

Tarkin's lip curled as he approached. Barriss tensed; he ignored her, taking her chin in his hand and turning her head roughly as he looked her over. She sucked a breath through her teeth and glared impotently, and was rewarded with a cold smile. “Prisoner... Barriss Offee, wasn't it?”

As if the droid intercom hadn't asked her enough times.

“What's going on?” she demanded, resisting the urge to choke him on principle. “Where am I?”

Tarkin raised an eyebrow and released her. He didn't step out of her personal space, and she refused to retreat even as she leaned away from him. “An Imperial holding facility,” he said crisply. “Until you prove to my satisfaction that you can be trusted elsewhere. I should warn you, Miss Offee, I am not easily satisfied.”

If that was meant to be news to her, he would be disappointed. Barriss backed away from him.

“What's happening?” she asked warily, glancing at the screens. “The war...?”

Tarkin looked down at her and gave a singularly unpleasant smile. “Is over. No thanks to the former Jedi Order. Though I imagine that comes as no surprise to you; the Emperor was impressed with your foresight. He believes you may be useful to us. I am here to determine whether or not you are capable of meeting our standards.”

His expression suggested he was not optimistic, and Barriss stiffened with indignant pride. She was—had been—the most promising Healer in the Order, one of the most capable and recognized padawans in decades.

“What makes you think I want to be _useful_ to anyone?” She glanced at the door; it was sealed again, walled off with a forcefield. _Probably_ beyond her capabilities, but not an absolute.

Tarkin's eyebrow went up again, coldly appraising, but he ignored her in favor of turning to watch the broadcasts. Barriss' fingers twitched.

She really, _really_ hated this man.

It wasn't as if she had anything to prove anymore. She'd fallen this far. _There's blood on my hands already. What's a little more?_ But... well. This was the first sentient contact she'd had since her master was torn away to fight a dying Republic's war for them. And if she killed him, they might never let her out again. If she killed him she might go back to being alone in the dark. And this time it really would be her fault.

She wasn't that kind of murderer yet. Besides, she told herself as she slowly rose out of a combat crouch. Tarkin had _answers_.

“A shame, isn't it?” he mused, hands folded behind his back as he cast an uninterested look over the screens. A droid had accompanied him in; a sphere of some sort, bobbing in the air around them. It looked almost like a holoimager; Barriss, suddenly self-conscious, tucked a ragged strand of hair behind her ear and wished desperately for her mantle back.

“I didn't start this war,” she hissed.

Tarkin finally granted her a brief glance and a smirk. “No,” he agreed. “You saw the Jedi Order for what it was, didn't you? Violent. Corrupt.” He gestured to one of the holoscreens, which was playing footage of a different Jedi, this one with a green lightsaber—her heart lurched until she was certain it wasn't a Mirialan—cutting their way through more troopers outside a nondescript building. In their wake, fighters exploded. “Power-hungry.”

Barriss wanted a lightsaber. She wanted a lightsaber _badly_. She didn't know what game Tarkin was playing but she felt horribly vulnerable standing so close to him unarmed.

“That's... not exactly how I would have put it,” she answered slowly. Unprincipled, yes. Guilty of war crimes, in some cases. Lost. But power-hungry... not in as many words. If anything she had wanted them to wake up and realize they were letting themselves be _used_. Ahsoka's trial had shown that. They had thrown her into the gundark's nest and never even bothered to let her answer their accusations with _evidence_ before leaving her to be ravaged by the court of a military she hadn't even really belonged to.

Admittedly, Barriss...hadn't helped. But she hadn't expected that level of cowardice from the Jedi, and the injustice still rankled. Ahsoka was _theirs_. Not the Republic's. They were so busy trying to make an example of a so-called traitor they hadn't even bothered to talk about why Letta Turmond was so eager to perform the bombing in the first place.

So in the end it had been for nothing, after all. At least Ahsoka had been spared...whatever _this_ was. Wherever she'd ended up.

Tarkin continued looking unimpressed, but now his attention was on her instead of the holoscreens.

“Really?” he said, like he was indulging a particularly stupid child whose grasp of Basic was questionable at best. “And how would you, in the infinite wisdom of a fallen ex-apprentice, summarize an attempted military coup?”

For a moment, Barriss couldn't do anything but stare at him.

“...What does that have to do with the Jedi?”

Tarkin looked... not amused, but like if he was a normal sentient with a soul he might appear something in the realm of amused.

“Oh, dear,” he said, sounding bored. “Did no one tell you?”

_Of course they didn't!_

“Tell me what?” she snapped.

Radiating smugness, Tarkin withdrew a small remote from a pocket. The holoscreens flickered, died, and reformed as a single unit. Barriss' lip curled at the sight of the Senate closed-circuit footage, and she prepared for more political maneuvering and willful ignorance of the galaxy's desperate need for peace as the Chancellor's pod rose into position.

“ _Friends..._ ”

Barriss went rigid with shock.

She knew Palpatine's voice well enough. Better than she would like, actually. But this...something was wrong. Something was off about it.

“ _I come before you with the gravest news_...”

The words made sense, but the story they were telling didn't. This wasn't... they wouldn't... she had known the Order was stagnating and hardened, she had known the Jedi had lost their way and that they would not survive their current path intact. She had _known_ that.

But—overthrowing the Senate, just to expedite the war effort? With Dooku dead, and Separatist leadership scattered, and reunification talks already underway? That would be madness. Barriss was a healer, and she knew poison when she saw it, and she knew how to tell the differences between seemingly-identical symptoms. There had been poison in the heart of the Order. But it wasn't _that_ kind of poison.

 _Trained by traitor Luminara Unduli_ —no. No. _That_ , Barriss would not believe.

“He's lying,” she said harshly. “He's _lying_. _You're_ lying!”

Tarkin's mild amusement vanished as he advanced on her. Barriss bared her teeth. She did _not_ back down in front of men like Admiral Tarkin. She would not be intimidated by a man she could crush under her heel like a kaadu egg.

“Those are very serious accusations from one in your position,” he said softly. “Very few believe a former Jedi could be rehabilitated. You should be grateful the Emperor has given you this opportunity, after the treachery your kind committed.”

“That's a _lie!_ ”

The holoscreen flared, jumped, and fuzzed momentarily to static as her fists clenched and the Force flexed around her, partially tugging the holoemitters out of the wall. Tarkin barely blinked.

“... _and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled_...”

“It's not true,” Barriss insisted. “Maybe one or two, but there wasn't a _conspiracy_. What happened to my master?”

Tarkin idly straightened his sleeves. “The Emperor was badly injured in the assassination attempt,” he said evenly. “But, as you can see, made a full recovery.”

“That isn't what I said!” Barriss was frozen, cold panic beginning to leak into her chest despite her attempts to stop it. Luminara wouldn't lie to her, not on purpose, and she was alive, she _was_. “ _What happened to my master?_ I _know_ she's alive!”

Tarkin's normal expression—the one that made it look like he'd bitten into a rotten Hutt—was back.

“I can see you still need time to adjust to your situation,” he said neutrally. “Disappointing.”

Barriss didn't think anymore. As Tarkin turned for the door her nails dug into her palm and her awareness leaped _out_ , and _twisted—_ dragging him to a halt by the throat, he _would_ answer her, she would not be tossed aside again, not by the likes of _him—_

She'd forgotten the hovering droid. There was a sharp jab to her neck; she felt her hold on the Force stutter and slip away, and didn't even have time to relish the sight of Tarkin rubbing his throat before her vision blurred and she swayed dangerously.

“... _remaining Jedi will be hunted down and destroyed!_ ”

And everything went black.

* * *

* * *

Barriss was pacing.

She was too far gone to recognize that this was a bad sign. Stillness, serenity, patience—they had been instilled in her since birth. They had been everything she was. Her training had only reinforced this; economy of motion, compact technique, crisp lines, a rock-solid center. That cold crispness remained, but it was agitated now; crumbling and roaring in her ears like the glaciers of Ilum cracking.

Whatever she had been once, she no longer knew how to reclaim it.

“I don't understand why you won't talk to me,” she snapped, pausing to look at Luminara before whipping back around in disgust. Her former mentor had at least given up on her sad, searching looks; her eyes were closed now, and she stood calmly between the mag-restraint poles like she was completely unaware of the nerve-pulse electrodes hanging like spider legs all around her.

Barriss hadn't used them yet, but if she kept up this kind of stubbornness—no. No, Luminara would see reason. It wouldn't come to that.

“Why are you _protecting_ them?” she demanded. “You're just as responsible for the destruction as they are if you defend it, don't you _see_ that?”

Finally, Luminara stirred, though she still didn't open her eyes. “The irony has not escaped me,” she answered. “Which is more than can be said for you, it would seem.”

Barriss stared at her and seethed for a moment before stepping closer.

“The war,” she hissed, “is _over_ , master! Why are you still fighting it?”

“The war has not been won so long as the galaxy lives in fear.”

“They wouldn't live in fear if people like these rogue Jedi didn't keep putting them in danger!” She was almost pleading, now; had to fight back the urge to drop to her knees in front of the woman who had been her world, her guiding star, her center of gravity since she was barely more than a child. “You're better than this, master. I know you're better than this. They're rallying innocent people into...into uprisings to suit themselves, because they can't accept defeat. If we don't stop them now it will be war  _again_. Civilians are being used as cannon fodder, we can't let it continue.”

“How eloquently you defend their murderers, Barriss,” Luminara sighed.

“I'm trying to give them a chance to live in peace! They deserve that after everything we've done!”

Luminara opened her eyes, then, and there was just a hint of hard judgment under the sadness. “Then I pray you die quickly, before you realize what you have let yourself become.”

Barriss stared at her for a long moment, shoulders tense, chest heaving.

“Tell me where Kenobi is,” she ordered harshly.

Her master's eyes flashed. “If I knew,” she said, low and even, “I would not tell you.”

“Who helped you escape from Kashyyyk?”

She was asking because they might know the location of true traitors, true threats. That was it. That was all.

Luminara stared blankly forward. “No.”

“Have you been in contact with insurgent cells?”

“Barriss.” The response was little more than a tired sigh. “You're embarrassing yourself.”

Tarkin was still lurking just in the corner of her vision. Barriss carefully clenched and unclenched one fist.

“Where is...” Her eyes darted briefly to Tarkin and back. “Where is the traitor Ahsoka Tano?”

Her voice didn't break. It didn't. Ahsoka was everything wrong with the Jedi Order. Rash, impulsive, a fighter to the core, a warrior who took joy in battle, a fierce protector of the helpless, brave, indomitable, unfailingly honest, gentle with children...

Luminara was watching her, now. A long, questioning look. A mournful one.

“What _did_ she ever do to you, Barriss?” she asked quietly.

Tarkin cleared his throat.

“Inquisitor,” he said with that light, condescending politeness. “Much as I hate to disturb your work, might I suggest moving on with the interrogation. I should hate to have to report _inefficiency_.”

 _No, I can do this. I can get through to her_.

But even Barriss was beginning to despair of that. Luminara was no assassin, could not possibly have been involved in the deception that ended the Order. But if she was placing the fate of the galaxy at risk... Barriss didn't care about the Empire, but its _people_... they would never have safety like this. Never.

“Master,” she pleaded, backing up to the nerve-pulse console. Her fingers hovered over a deceptively innocent-looking red switch. “Please. Just tell me who's instigating this violence and you'll see. Everything will be all right. I know it's difficult, but for a lasting peace surely it's worth it!”

Luminara's eyes were distant. “If that is all you wish to know—”

“It is, I swear—”

“—you might start by looking to your left. Or do you disagree, Admiral?”

Barriss wanted to bury her face in her hands for frustration. She had always envied her master's serenity, her grace under pressure, but this wasn't the time...

“Master,” she said desperately. “I don't want to do this.”

Luminara sighed. “Far be it from me to force you to do anything you don't want to do, Barriss.”

The swell of fury was so powerful even Barriss was taken aback by it; her master's eyes widened in shock as a red haze swam in her vision.

_How dare you._

In her mind, she knew that wasn't what Luminara had meant but her heart and soul still had scars, raw and bleeding that would never heal, _never_ , and for what? The Republic's war, the Jedi's war, a war she had never once volunteered for—

 _How_ dare _you!_

And all of it, every moment of that hell, killing and killing again, slowly destroying herself until she looked in the mirror and saw the empty shell of someone she _hated_ , all of it had been done for Luminara. _Everything_. Her soul and her freedom held up like an offering to be stripped and scattered on a solar wind, because she wanted her master to be _proud_ of her—

Something cold and hard as durasteel cased in ice snapped into place in her gut.

“ _Umbara_ ,” she snarled, and threw the switch home.

* * *

* * *

Barriss had enough experience now with being tranquilized to know she didn't like it.

This time the nausea was more potent. She retched violently, still barely half-awake, and tried to turn to lower herself to the floor in an attempt to keep her stomach under control. Her hands didn't respond.

She frowned—that seemed wrong, somehow, her hands should respond when she did things with them—but was distracted by her stomach apparently trying to squirm free of its own lining. She tasted bile, pressed her forehead to her knees and sucked air through her teeth until the sensation stopped.

Her forehead was beaded with sweat; she tried to wipe it off on her sleeve, and once again, her hands didn't respond. This time, however, she was just barely awake enough to realize why.

This secondary room, while still empty and white, had the regulation durasteel slats along the sides. She'd noticed them when she first entered, but she hadn't thought any further on them. It hadn't even occurred to her that the entire reason the slats were regulation was to allow for prisoners to be bound and subdued.

Oh, no. No no no. She couldn't—if she couldn't use her hands, if she couldn't even move—she wasn't helpless, she was never _helpless_.

Except for when she was. And if there was no confident, grinning Togruta to rescue her this time, well. Whose fault was _that_ , Barriss.

The holoscreens were still running. All fifteen of them.

She had been able to ignore it, groggy as she was, while it was just that same footage of the Chancellor—the _Emperor_ , now, she thought derisively—talking about the web of deception laid by the Jedi, the deadly paranoia of the Council (okay, Barriss could actually grant him that much), the bloody treason they had plotted in their desperation to avoid giving up their newfound power with the war drawing to a close. That kind of thing.

It was harder to ignore now. Palpatine's voice continued ringing out from the center screen, but the full-wall projection of his pale, deformed face was splintering out, changing to show footage that... couldn't be true. Couldn't be real. She'd felt the Jedi dying, yes, felt their fear and pain and terror but...she'd assumed a Separatist attack, a bomb placed in the Temple much less focused than her own. A cruiser crashing into it from orbit, _something_.

Not this.

“... _through the work of those information-gatherers still loyal to the cause of a strong, unified galaxy, it was discovered that these Jedi traitors were sabotaging war efforts in key arenas, dragging out the conflict at the cost of innocent lives_...”

She couldn't comprehend it, it was too vast, too impossible. Some of it was security footage, holo and video from—was that the Temple, it couldn't be—but it was gone before she could see. The flare of cold violet was unmistakable, Master Windu's powerful form impossible not to recognize as he forced the Chancellor scrambling back along the ground, raised the saber for a killing blow—and the video skipped again. Replaced by shaky, grainy helmet-cam footage.

“ _The so-called Jedi Order has finally been exposed as a seditious terrorist faction, and will be dealt with as such. Already, many of these warmongering criminals have been defeated by loyal soldiers of the Republic..._ ”

No, there were too many, not all of them could have—but they _had_ known, hadn't they? Known what they were becoming, she had warned them, she had warned them and they hadn't _listened—_ and now they paid for it in blood, again and again, as the people they had used and commanded and called it serving finally reared their heads and said _enough_.

But—

 _We were all guilty_.

Not like this, not like this, they could have _changed_ , it was the Council that was too far gone, the Order could have healed—

_They stood by and watched and let themselves be used, and said nothing. The blood was on their hands. The clones have more right than anyone to put an end to it—_

But Aayla's men had _loved_ her—

One by one, the screens filled with blaster fire, the CT-numbers in the corners flickering and switching coldly.

There were over ten thousand Jedi in the Order.

A flash of emerald right before her eyes, surrounded by trees and course brown hair and scarlet lances of plasma, and Barriss barely had time to give a strangled moan before those familiar eyes stared straight into the camera, wide with shock and betrayal, and then a hand thrust out amid the desperate blocks and the footage snapped to—no, no, Cody, you _wouldn't_ , you would arrest him, you would demand an explanation but you—not like that—

Arms locked behind her back, curled on the floor and sickly unable to look away, with the self-proclaimed Emperor triumphant in her ears, Barriss Offee buried her head in her knees and _screamed_.

* * *

_You've made your point._

She would have shouted it if she had a voice left. She _had_ shouted it. She'd shrieked and begged and cried for mercy. She'd gotten no answer.

_You've made your point just make it stop I don't want to see them die!_

_It has to be a lie._

Except it wasn't. She'd felt it happening.

“... _reporting from the scene of the tragedy at the Jedi Temple, where it appears the group of children Imperial forces have been searching for were killed in cold blood by their caretakers_ _during the purge._ _Experts on the scene believe the Jedi sought to prevent these children from being confiscated and returned to their homes, and suspect the action to be a desperate final act of defiance upon realizing their power was gone_...”

There was no video of this. The internal security cameras, according to the news broadcasters, had been wiped clean. But the wounds on the younglings' bodies were unmistakable.

 _I felt them die_.

Her heart went out to the 501st. They had gone to take control of the Temple, apparently; and the Jedi had fought to the death rather than cooperate. _They truly did go mad, then, in the end_. She hadn't known Ahsoka's legion well, but she couldn't imagine what they must have gone through coming up to rescue children and finding they hadn't gotten there in time.

Too little, too late. She knew what that felt like.

Her throat closed, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She no longer had the energy to sob. She wished the news broadcast didn't have a timestamp in the corner. Knowing how slowly the hours were creeping by only made it worse.

She had fought it, at first. Tried to use the Force to open her cuffs. The moment the slightest pressure was exerted on the locking mechanism, white pain raced up her arms and down her spine.

It was shorter than the shocks she'd been given by the electrified floor. But the voltage was much, much higher. And being able to taste her own teeth didn't help with the thirst.

It had been two days. She hadn't eaten. And they hadn't given her water. Locked as she was to the wall, she hadn't even moved since she lost the energy to thrash against her bonds electrocution be damned.

She hadn't changed anything. She hadn't saved anyone.

_Why won't they just let me die?_

Well. Maybe that's what they were doing, this time. Maybe it was all she deserved. She'd tried to warn them and sacrificed her soul in the process, and they had locked her away and continued to fall—until _this_. Maybe she'd been wrong the whole time. Maybe they really had been irredeemable.

Her head was pounding. Dimly, she realized that she hadn't even tried to meditate. She didn't want to. She knew that should tell her something, but she didn't care enough to wonder what.

The door to the cell opened with a low grinding noise. Barriss recognized Tarkin's presence; she curled closer to herself and didn't acknowledge him.

What did she have left to lose? Her pride?

There was a weighted pause, and then with the click of a button her binders sparked and fell open. Barriss curled her arms slowly around her stomach, rubbing at the ugly bruises ringing her wrists and refusing to look up. Her shoulders ached sharply in protest to the movement.

Another button press, and the holoscreens froze and went silent.

The hovering black sphere droid was back. This time she didn't miss the needle bobbing threateningly at its side, but it made no move to harm her. Instead, a hatch on its underbelly fell open and dropped a metal canteen in her lap.

Ow.

She glared at it, but the effect was ruined by the way her trembling fingers fumbled eagerly at the cap. She could barely handle even swallowing water, at first, but she managed in small gulps. It didn't help, not much, but it chased away the dry mouth.

The holoscreens were running again, but silently this time. Barriss felt a wave of pathetic relief as she realized they had returned to regular news broadcasts. Images of troopers and Republic... _Imperial_... cruisers moving in and around destroyed marketplaces, straightening the wreckage, waving civilians back to their business. Order. Sanity. _Peace_. She had never liked militarization, but... but, _Force_ , after that endless, senseless slaughter, someone had to do _something_.

Of course, not all the broadcasts were of such an innocent nature. Everywhere there were fallen Jedi, lashing out when they were discovered, cutting their way through countless troopers. Courage was no defense against a lightsaber.

“A tragedy,” Tarkin mused. “Wouldn't you agree?”

“Kill me,” she whispered. “Please.” He turned his head just enough to glance back at her with a raised eyebrow, then turned away.

“The Empire has made a great deal of progress even in this short span,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken. “Unfortunately, the presence of these Jedi rebels... complicates matters. The citizens of the Empire will always be looking over their shoulders so long as the menace continues, but it seems our troopers are unequipped to deal with the Jedi's brand of savagery. If only there were someone who was capable of facing them directly.”

She didn't even know why she was fighting him anymore.

“Of course,” he added, words dripping false concern. “If you would prefer death, it can be arranged.”

Barriss swallowed with difficulty.

“What do you want me to do?”

* * *

* * *

The worst thing, Barriss thought as Luminara's scream faded into short gasps, was how much easier it had gotten.

“Master,” she said. “Please. This has gone far enough. I am not _enjoying_ this!”

Luminara had collapsed half a dozen pulse rounds ago; Barriss had come close to lowering her mag-restraints again to take the pressure off her wrists, and only been stopped by a suspicious look from Tarkin. Her master was making a slow, painful effort to get her feet back under her, but only a bit of the strain showed in her voice.

“That,” she said mildly, “makes two of us.”

Barriss pressed down on the nerve-pulse switch again and counted to five in her head.

Luminara was limp between the restraint poles, twitching slightly with the aftereffects; she'd been struggling to breathe for a while, and the rasping wheeze deep in her lungs was becoming worrying. The look she sent to her former apprentice was harder and more disappointed than any Barriss had ever seen from her.

For a moment, she faltered. _Look at what you're doing_ , she thought to herself. _Look at what you've_ done.

But if this was the price of peace—if this was the price of a galaxy without war, without another full-scale conflict that would cost hundreds of thousands of lives, if this was what it cost—

 _Attachment is not compassion_.

Maybe Barriss was the first Jedi in centuries to truly understand what that meant. The true price of choosing the safety of billions over the life of one.

“You're never going to tell me,” she realized.

If Luminara ever intended to answer her, she didn't get the chance. Barriss felt the hot, burning redness in the Force half a heartbeat before her master's eyes widened in shock. It was a wall of overwhelming rage and pain and resentment; Barriss fought the urge to tear something apart until she'd reestablished her shields and was able to identify the mindless anger as something outside of herself.

The elevator doors opened with a pleasant _ding_.

Luminara hissed; Barriss instinctively stepped back, closer to her master's side. Even Tarkin looked taken aback, if more irritated than alarmed.

“Lord Vader,” he said shortly. “I was not informed of your arrival.”

The Sith—and they were supposed to be extinct, they were a myth, the Sith weren't supposed to exist, but there was only one thing this creature could be, and Barriss shrank back further toward Luminara—didn't respond except to turn and stare at him. Tarkin's throat worked for several seconds, as if he was about to speak; then he nodded sharply and returned to his datapad.

For a long moment, the room was full of nothing but long, hard mechanical breathing.

_What are you?_

As if responding to the flare of fear caught up in the thought, the creature's attention turned to her. She _felt_ it, a heavy presence like molten lead in the Force, felt his focus shift and wrap itself around her soul.

And she felt the aimless fury warp into a sharper, more intensely personal malice. Whoever, whatever, this Sith Lord was, it _hated_ her. Her, specifically.

Luminara, even as she shivered with pain, didn't miss it.

“Well, Inquisitor,” she said tiredly. Her arms shook as she tried to pull herself onto her feet and failed. “Aren't you going to introduce yourself?”

She wasn't certain she remembered her own name under the overwhelming _contempt_ battering her from the flat emptiness of the creature's eyes. But she had felt it before, this exact brand of revulsion, it had echoed along clashing lightsabers and _he had tried to kill her just to test a theory—_

 _She'd seen hours upon hours of video from the 501_ _st_ _, she'd seen thousands upon thousands of Jedi cut down, she'd heard screaming from the Temple in her skull and her soul and it had all been centered around one name, but none of the footage had shown her hide or hair of—_

She flinched.

No, she was being ridiculous. Even Barriss could tell that whatever this thing was, no part of it was Ahsoka's joking and irreverent former master. For one thing, Anakin Skywalker was nowhere _near_ that tall. If the thing Tarkin called Vader registered her recognition, he showed no sign of it.

“Is that your professional opinion, Inquisitor?” No, that... that deep rumbling that caught tight in her chest was not Skywalker's voice.

“I...” It took her longer than it should have to realize what he was talking about. “I...yes. She—doesn't know anything.”

_In...out._

_In...out._

_In...out._

Three breaths.

It was a lifetime.

“Very well,” said Vader finally. He half-turned to the security droids still flanking the door and gestured them forward sharply before finally turning his attention to Tarkin. “The Emperor expressed concern over your lack of progress. He sent me to investigate personally.” Barriss had time to appreciate Tarkin's sudden blanch before Vader continued. “I am pleased to be able to report that you have shown more competence than anticipated.”

Tarkin nodded sharply.

Meanwhile, two of the security droids had let their fellows through the particle shield to restrain their prisoner again. Luminara fell to her knees as the mag-restraints were switched off, and didn't fight the droids when a stun-cuff was latched around one wrist. They moved to pull her arms behind her back; Barriss cleared her throat, and after a moment of confusion ( _idiot machines_ , she thought viciously) one of them fastened Luminara's hands in front of her instead. She stumbled as she was pulled to her feet, but only had to lean on a droid for a moment.

Tarkin looked disapproving. Vader mostly looked bored, but still felt like boiling hatred.

Luminara's legs gave out as she was led toward the elevator, and Barriss started forward instinctively; the security droid caught her master first, which made her... angrier than it should have. _Don't touch her_ , she wanted to snap, as if she had any right to be protective _now_.

The aborted motion and spike of temper didn't go unnoticed by Luminara. She seemed almost too exhausted to be disappointed in Barriss anymore. The look she gave her was nothing more than pitying, and then the droids had maneuvered her into the elevator.

Barriss twitched. “Master...”

That was too much for Tarkin's limited patience. “Now, _really_ ,” he snapped, and Barriss was reluctantly forced to turn to him as she heard the elevator doors close behind her. “Lord Vader, it is my opinion that the prisoner's stubborn emotional attachment to these _traitors_ renders her unfit for a position of any importance—”

“Tell me.” Vader's anger lifted off her shoulders like a physical load being shed as he turned his focus on Tarkin, who didn't even seem to notice it. “Why was the prisoner being interrogated?”

Tarkin's eyebrows raised. “She was a Jedi, Lord Vader. A traitor to the Empire.”

“Exactly.” Barriss took a step back as disgust rolled off the Sith in waves. Tarkin seemed unaffected, which made him either very brave or profoundly stupid. “Luminara Unduli is a Jedi Master. She will die a Jedi Master. Only a fool would forget that even in the face of her physical weakness.”

“Of course,” Tarkin ground out.

Vader just  _looked_ at him for a moment, then rounded back on Barriss. This time she was able to steel herself against his presence, and managed to hold her ground when he faced her.

“You failed to extract any meaningful confession, Inquisitor,” he said, the condemnation in the words doing its best to press her into the floor. “You maintain that there was nothing to be learned.”

She could all but feel the knife's edge below her feet.

“Nothing meaningful,” she replied, not looking at the creature's eyes. Or the eyes of its mask.

_In...out._

She tried not to measure her life in Vader's breaths.

“As you wish.” And he handed her...

Barriss' heart missed a beat.

After all this time, all this time in which she hadn't been allowed to leave or even fully explore this facility, only barely been allowed to leave the quarters assigned to her in order to train and eat and face criticism and condescension and on rare occasions praise from her _handler;_  all this time of her only contact with the outside world coming through an inconsistent holo-broadcast connection in the main hall, for her salvation to come at the hands of a _Sith lord..._ all this time, and she'd lost track of the slavers and pirates and insurgents she had torn information from with cold, unrewarding efficiency. All this time and after so long, after everything—

 _They were giving her a lightsaber_.

The familiar click-swish as the weapon ignited warmed more than just the air around it as _life_ thrummed under her palm again. She barely even noticed the color. The weight was perfect, the grip all but molded to her hand—the guard was strange, and the hilt longer than she was used to, though the second set of controls explained that.  It was a little worrying; she'd only done rudimentary training with a saberstaff before.

But she could learn.

She almost didn't hear Vader's last instruction. “Then she is of no further use to us. Dispose of her, Inquisitor.” A slight pause, and the mechanical voice seemed to mock her as he added, “You should find it comes naturally.”

Just for a moment, one soaring moment, she had been free.

She had a brief, wild urge to fight her way out of this place—wherever they were. Free Luminara and go rogue. The scarlet blade in her hands was power, was agency... but that wouldn't help anyone. She wanted more than just her freedom, _owed_ the galaxy more. She wanted peace, that was the one thing she was still able to cling to. She wanted the fighting to be over.

“But I...”

 _If this is the price_.

She tightened her grip on the saber hilt.

_If this is what it takes to keep the peace._

Slowly, stiffly, she inclined her head.

“...Yes, Master.”

 


End file.
